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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Soft
Brown
Beer
Humorous
Full
Voice
Ale
Brewing
Squash

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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.
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The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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